Growing Back Together
by AudreyRye
Summary: A graphic portrayal of the hardship Katniss and Peeta go through to find one another again 2 years after the assassination of President Coin. Be advised - Mature content throughout between Katniss & Peeta. AKA, pretty much lots of smut, lemons, yada yada. Check out Chapter 4, you'll love it! Katniss/Peeta. Everlark.
1. Fire and Reason

Couple of things before this gets started.

First, I Don't Own Hunger Games (the movie or books). I don't own Katniss, Peeta, or anything else connect to the this series.

Secondly, this is my first time (ever) writing 1st person present tense. Forgive me for the traveling back and forth between present and past tense. It will get better. Just use your imagination and pretend those mistakes aren't there. Thanks

Last, This story has mature content throughout. Not in this starting chapter, but in most every chapter following. If you do not like it, you do not have to read it. I hope you enjoy my imaginings, Thanks!

* * *

**Growing Back Together**

**Ch. 1**

**Fire & Reason**

* * *

Searching… I was searching…

I am back at the hospital in District Eight. Looking around, all I can see are the rebels who are wounded. Upon closer inspection, the wounded bare the faces of all those I knew that had died because of me. Whispers of my name ripple in awe through the room.  
"The mockingjay… Katniss Everdeen… mockingjay…"

I want to tell them that I am no longer their mockingjay. I am just a girl who was claimed to have lost her mind. An assassin who can't distinguish an enemy from an ally. I open my mouth to speak but the words are lost beneath the chanting of my name. I want to yell for them to stop but my body isn't reacting to my every command. I simply lift my head and continue to search. Bed after bed, wounded after wounded, I search.

_What am I looking for?_ I glance down to find myself in a bright red hospital gown. A bracelet from the wards of District 13 shining brightly on my wrist.

"Mockingjay… girl on Fire… Katniss…. the girl… Fire" the chanting in the changes. Every eye is on me, every voice beginning to fill with hatred. I keep walking through the mass, avoiding and ignoring hands that are reaching for me. I have to find what I am looking for, that is all that matters.

"Fire… Fire… Fire…"

"Katniss…" A voice calls to me. I can hear it as clearly as if the room had been silent and empty. Looking down in front of me was my mother.

"Katniss…" She whispers again. Her voice as faint and see through as fine lace. Resting on a stretcher, pock marks cover every visible area of her skin. Perspiration dampens her forehead, her eyes dark with unrest. The blanket covering her lower body is smeared in blood. She holds her hands up to me, her fingers stiff and bent with strain, making them seem more like talons.

"Girl on Fire… Fire…. on Fire… on Fire… on Fire…"

"Katniss…" I hear a gurgling in her throat as a drop of blood splashes on her lip.

"Mom" I sob.

"Katniss… get out."

My ears pick up a new noise. One from outside. The hum of the fighter planes coming to destroy the hospital.

"Mom, I can't,"

"Set her on Fire! Set the girl on Fire! Set her on Fire! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!" The voices were maddening.

"GET OUT."

Everything around me explodes and I am on Fire…

* * *

"MOM!"

I sit straight up in my bed, my body tense with adrenaline. _Where was she?_ I throw the covers off and race down the hall. Flinging open the door to what had been my mother's bedroom I see that her bed is neatly made. A layer of dust is settled over the furnishings. She isn't here. My heart pounds as I rush down the stairs, calling for her. Silence answers. The house is empty. Running out into the snow and down the street all I can think of is to get to _his_ house. I pound my fists on the door.

"PEETA!"

I don't stop my assault on the door to wait for a verbal reply. I keep pounding and screaming his name until the door finally opens in a rush. I grab Peeta's hand as I rush to explain, fumbling over the words.

"My Mom! My Mom, she is in trouble! We have to get her out!"

He has to concentrate to understand me, "What? Katniss, calm down."

"No! She is sick! And all those other people!" I tug on his hand, urging him into following me.

"Katniss. Stop."

"Help me!"

"KATNISS!"

I blink at his raised voice and slowly close my opposing mouth… He looks into my eyes and I realize…

"It was just a dream…" I whisper.

A worried look coveres his handsome features. He is having the same thought that is forcing its way into my head. I'm no stranger to nightmares, but when I wake they are usually over and I am free to shake and recover. Reason hadn't come upon waking this time. Reason had not come to me until after I had ran all the way to his house. It was the makings of a crazy person.

While this honestly shouldn't bother me (I have been proclaimed crazy, by others and myself, more times than I can count) I feel completely terrified. What kind of life do I have where I can't distinguish my dreams from reality? What future could I have when even my mind insisted on torturing me even now that the war is over?  
I stood before Peeta, in my night gown and shoeless in the snow. He was the strongest comfort I knew. Tortured and broken by the capital, unable to distinguish much reality himself. I begin to shiver not entirely from the cold.

Peeta now pulls my hand. I follow him inside. I start to feel the sting of the snow on my feet. He begins to comfort me in the voice he always uses to calm me. He pulls me through the kitchen (I always use this way into his house, seeing as this is where he could be found most of the time) and into his living room, where a fire is blazing. I flinch in spite of myself. Girl on Fire. He notices my hesitation, squeezes my hand, and leads me to the couch. Our hands lose contact so he can gather up the blanket that is spread out. He had been sleeping there before I came.

"I'm sorry." My voice cracks as I speak. I hate to think that I interrupted what had been peaceful sleeping. He was plagued by nightmares as much as I was and a dreamless sleep was a precious gift.

"It's fine Katniss. I understand."

He sits me down on and gently places the blanket around my shoulders. It smells like him. I grab the ends and pull it tight around me. He quickly produces another blanket from a closet and wraps it around my feet.

"Better?"

No, not better. I am freezing, afraid of fire, in my night cloths, my feet hurt, my mom might be dieing… but I nod that I am better.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

The sincerity in his voice is palpable. Peeta is always so emotionally involved with everything he does. He rarely holds back and never conceals anything, not from me... at least that is how it _use_ to be…  
I shake my head. I am beginning to have trouble recalling the details of my dream that were different than the actual happenings. I need to compose myself before I speak to him.

"Would you be ok long enough for me to make some hot chocolate?"

He was giving me time. He always knows what I need. I nod, not trusting my voice at the moment. He gives my hand another squeeze and leaves the room. I look at my hand, at the last contact we had. I noted some time ago that the only place on my body Peeta is willing to touch since we returned to District 12 is my hands. Except about a month ago he had gotten my attention by tapping my shoulder to point out where his new bakery was being built. Pathetic that I would even register that. But other than that, no physical contact. He still has his moments of forgetting himself. He will revert back into the capital's mutt as a result of the torture he had to endure. I can still recall the feeling of his hands around my neck when he was first rescued. Nothing that serious has happened since the overrun of the capital. Just harsh words and harsher glares. He has been able contain the physical side of it.

It has been around two years since I shot Coin. Roughly 18 months since I returned to Twelve. Since then my life has been about nothing but hunting and the book. The book of memories that keeps me tied to the hope of living. Every good memory of someone from the past keeps me struggling through one day at a time. Since losing Prim… No… I can't think of Prim now. It is still too hard.

The book. Yes, the book. I still can't write about my family or those who mattered most to me. Small steps my therapist says. Besides giving me something to hang onto, making the book lets me see Peeta on an every-other-day basis. I don't even see much of Haymitch anymore. Peeta says it is because he just wants to forget everything that has happened and that he'll come around in time. I think it is more than that. I think he blames me. He can't really ever leave 12 "until further notice", which I deem to be until everyone thinks I'm sane again. Fat chance. He made some deal (probably a never-ended supply of liquor) to be the one to watch over me since my mother wouldn't come back. I didn't ask him to do it. He probably thinks he would be better off in another district. Yeah, he probably would be.

I forced Haymitch out of my mind. I was dealing with enough guilt and self pity at the moment. I hear the rattling of cups, signaling that Peeta would soon be coming back. He often leaves discussing my dreams up to me. Of course he usually asks after he visits me during the day, not right after I wake and then practically break down his door. I usually shrug my nightmares off with morbid satire. But this one is different…

He comes back into the room carrying two steaming mugs. I try to give him a faint smile. "Thanks."

He sits on the floor in front of me, watching as I sip. I welcomed the warm liquid. Peeta perfected the recipe since we had it on the train, back during The Games. We sit in silence until most of our drinks are gone. I stare at the flames.

"Were you on fire again?" Peeta asks quietly, noticing my uneasy obsession.

"It was about the hospital in Eight."

"Oh…" Is all he says. He had not been there with me. At that time he was still being tortured… _oh no_.

I watch him carefully, expecting to see his eyes dilate as they always do when _it_ hits him. When he was tortured they used that video, among many others, to convince him that I was the treacherous mutt. He looks back at me with normal blue eyes.

He smirks after reading the look on my face, "Don't worry. I'm not going to go off on you. It isn't that bad anymore Katniss. I rarely have bad episodes anymore."

I give him a sincere smile. It fades quickly as I continue with my narration. "Not much of the dream mattered. People that I knew that had died were wounded people in the hospital. They were happy to see me at first, then called for me to be set on fire." I shrug and turn the last of my drink into my mouth before continuing, "But my mom was there… she was hurt, and covered in marks like she had a sickness. She was reaching for me but told me to get out. Then fighter planes came and bombed us."

Peeta exhibits nothing but calm. Like I said, we were use to the nightmares.

"You miss your mom, Katniss. You know she is working as a healer, so you associated it with the worst part of being a healer, getting sick themselves. Everything else was awful, but normal. Well, normal for us."

I hate to admit it but he is right. I sigh and stare into my empty cup. Everything else I _have_ dreamed before, over and over, even the hospital in eight. But never of my mother. Never of Prim.

"In the morning we'll call your mom to check on her. Why don't you stay here tonight?" My head snaps up. We haven't spent the night together since the Quarter Quell… well except for in the capital raid, if you could count that he was handcuffed to a rail most of the time.

"I'll get everything ready."

I watch him go, unable to believe what he just said. Our romantic relationship is basically considered nonexistent since we came back. We are friends, but even normal friends have more physical contact than we do. I'm always careful not to push him.  
I start to get nervous and notice my hands are shaking as I set my empty cup on the table. He returns, and taking my hand in his he pulls me up from the couch. I keep his hand as he leads up the stairs and down the hall. The temperature is bitter in the house, but the fire keeps it inhabitable. A bed will be cozy, someone in the bed with me will be more than warm enough. My knees feel weak but my excitement keeps my bare feet moving. Before we get to Peeta's room, he stops to usher me into a guest bedroom. My stomach does a weird flop. I look back at him, my surprise evident.

His hand runs through his hair and he mumbles uncomfortably. "There is an extra blanket on the end of the bed."

I purse my lips. It wasn't what I had been hoping for in the least. Maybe just being in the same house with him will give me comfort enough to keep the nightmares at bay.  
Peeta moves around me to the bed, pulls the covers back and steps aside. I walk stiffly over and climb in. Tucking me in like he would a child, he also pulls the extra blanket over me without a request. He sits beside me on the bed and we stare at each other. Minutes stretch and neither of us budge. I wish I was as good as he was when it came to knowing what was on other people's minds. The air in the room was cold, and I could see goosebumps on his arms. Maybe he is waiting for me to fall asleep… not likely to happen unless I could convince him to climb in with me.

"Remember what you would tell me whenever I asked you not leave me?" I whisper, breaking the trance. It wasn't a solid invitation, but it was clear what I was wanting. He continues to watch me, his features unreadable. Finally he reaches out and gently strokes my check.

"Always… I'll be down the hall if you need me," I watch him leave without looking back.

I huff in frustration. Why did things never work out the way I want them to?


	2. Was I Good

I don't own Hunger Games.

* * *

**Growing Back Together**

**Ch. 2**

**Was I Good**

* * *

I open my eyes. I steady my breathing and lay stone still in the bed. While listening to the normal creaks of my house in Victor Village I hear an abnormal sound. A thump. Someone is in the house. I sit up, taking in my surroundings. It is still dark the door is slightly open. A warm hand circles my arm.

"What is it?" Peeta questions in a dazed voice. I had woken him.

"I heard a noise in the house. Someone is downstairs. I'm going to check."

"Or you could stay here with me." He gently tries to pull me back down.

I resist, listening for the sound again. It isn't long till I hear it again. A thump. It was closer now. I slip my legs over the side of the bed and start to get to my feet.

"Stay with me" Peeta urges. He held my arm to keep me from leaving the bed.

Thump. Scrap.

"Stay…" He pleads silkily. I feel his hand move down my arm and make its way between my legs.

"Peeta…" I whisper his name in resistance. I have to find that sound. Grabbing his arm I try to pull his hand way, but he refuses to budge. I feel him rise and press himself against my back. His fingers rub firmly over the cloth of my underwear. Shivers run through my body.

"The sound…" I start to object but I feel his lips on the back of my shoulder, leaving a trail of light kisses as he works his way to the crook of my neck. His stroking becomes more adamant. I stop resisting as his kisses become more than a soft feathery touch, they become warm and insistent. I gasp as he slips his hand smoothly into my underwear and pushes his middle finger past my curls. A pleasurable feeling spreads where his hand is stirring. I squirm against him and I feel his lips part in a smile. His other arm slips around my waist and holds me to him. His name falls from my lips encouragingly and I struggle to keep quiet the other sounds he is pulling from me. He slips another finger into me and they escape. Moaning fills the room. My head falls back against his shoulder as wave after wave hits me. I hold tight onto his arm. The room is hot and spinning.

Thump. Scrape. The sound was in the room.

"Stop!" I cry. His hand recedes. I believe he is finally going to let me investigate until I feel him roughly pull me down on my back. I struggle in surprise as he climbs on top of me. His blue eyes were now black as they stared down into mine. His hands find my throat and squeeze. I can't breathe.

I struggle to throw him from me. I start to black out. His grip suddenly slackens. I cough as cold air rushes back into my lungs. Warm drops of blood fall onto the stomach of my nightgown and I look up to see the tip of a knife jutting through Peeta's chest.

"NOOOOOOO,"

* * *

"NOOOOOOO! Peeta!"

I wake for real this time. At least I think it's real. I'm no longer in my bed, in my house. I am in a strange room. Peeta's guest room. There is no sign of his lifeless body or the unknown murderer. I am in control of myself enough to know that it was just a dream. But doubts about my not being able to distinguish nightmares from reality enter my head.

An uncomfortable… yet stimulating, coiling feeling swells between my legs despite the adrenalin rushing through me. I try to mentally make it go away, but it persists. I focus on getting out of bed calmly as possible. I walk down the hall to Peeta's room, watching every shadow to be certain no one with a knife was there to jump out at me. His room is empty.

Thump.

I hear the noise and panic. What if it wasn't a dream? I quicken my pace toward the sound. By the time I reach the stairs I am running, desperate to put an end to this madness. I start searching the living room before I reach the bottom of the stair case and end up tripping over my feet. I fall, but instead of crashing onto the floor I land in strong arms that hold me upright. I struggle and punch but the arms hold me tight.

"It's just me, Katniss" His voice cuts through he fog. I look up into the blue eyes looking down at me.

"Peeta! You're ok!" My relief was temporary. I scan the rest of the room for the murderer.

"I'm fine Katniss. What is wrong?"

"I heard a noise." I touched the spot on his bare chest where the knife had jutted through. "You aren't dead." I state.

He snorts, "Not yet. Not that I know of anyway."

I let out a sigh of relief and sag against him. His breath catches. My brain slowly works out that I am in his arms, pressed against his chest, and his shirt is missing. This might be an overload of touching for him. I take one last selfish second of comfort and start to pull away. There is a split second where he holds me to him, but quickly lets me go. He steps back and holds out his arms in a dramatic style.

"See. I'm all here. Well mostly." He lifts his prosthetic leg a little. The corners of his lips were playing at a smile as he studied my face. My guilt at being the one to make him lose that leg was reprieved by the fact that he was standing in front of me, smiling and alive. "Come sit down. I was just throwing some logs on the fire."

I take my place on the couch and watch him toss a log onto the fire. And it hits me. Thump. Scrape. Thump was the log and scrape was the poker. _I'm so messed up..._ I think to myself.

The feeling between my legs has mostly faded. I had been able to forget about it in my panic to find the noise. But it is still there, lingering. I shift around trying to make it die away completely. I watch him throw the last log onto the fire. My gaze travels over his bare chest and arms, covered in scars like mine. The feeling springs back into me with a vengeance. I grit my teeth and clinch my thighs together. I notice Peeta watching me closely with a puzzled expression, the end of the poker resting in the coals forgotten. I drop my gaze and pretend to examine the floor. Could he see the blush creeping up my neck as he walks over? He takes a place beside me and I jump when his arm circles around my shoulders. I let him draw me over to lay my head against chest. His body is warm from the fire and smelling slightly of smoke. I pull my legs up under me and find reassurance in his embrace. His other hand comes up to push strands of hair from my face. His touch is so soothing I almost cry. How could I miss something so much?  
Most of my body is pressed against his side. I move the slightest bit and press the tingling spot against him hoping it would ease the pressure. Instead it sends my body alight, making me want more. I let out a shaky breath.

"So Katniss… you had a dream about me?" There was something in his voice, an unknown inquiry just behind the question.  
I nod into his chest and clinch my thighs tighter, willing the tingling to leave me at peace. But recalling the dream and what Peeta's hands were doing to me…

"Was I good?" his voice was barely more than a breath.


	3. Always Being Burnt

I don't own Hunger Games.

Wow, long time no update! Sorry, I was busy with my LoK fic and having a life. But now I'm back. I wasn't very moved by all the grammer flaws in the last two chapters, so I went back, reviewed, and updated them. So they are a little different read now. Still pretty shoty, but you are readers, use your imagination and just enjoy the story. I quite enjoy the next chapter. It isn't fully finished, but you'll want to stick around for it ;)

* * *

**Growing Back Together**

**Ch. 3**

**Always Being Burnt**

* * *

I look up from my haven against his chest. His face is emotionless, but his eyes are twinkling.

I had to swallow past a dry throat to get my voice out, "Good?"

His chest begins to shake with silent laughter and a mischievous grin crosses his face. A small flame of anger welled up inside me. He was teasing me! He had connected the dots and saw straight through me. I rush to pull myself together.  
"You were ok," I said nonchalantly, "Until you died," I snapped the last part.

I looked away, realizing I might have crossed a line. The touch of his hand under my chin brings me back around. He is still smiling, but not the playful leering it was at first. This smile was… cocky.

"I promise I'll leave that part out,"

Before I can retort, tender fingers ghost over my jaw line, entangling into my hair, pulling me forward. Our lips meet and I'm frozen. After months, years, of barely touching and worrying about where the line is, I am wondering now if there even is a line. Like a dam breaking, the memory of our every touch rushes over me. The hunger from the night on the beach returns. My hand roams over his cheek, over his neck, his arms, his chest like every time I wanted to touch him but couldn't. Purely by accident does my hand graze the top of his pants.  
I jump when I hear him hiss, but he holds me to him and our kiss becomes deeper. The coiling feeling is shooting through me, gaining control over my last remaining shreds of reason. I move over to straddle his lap, pressing my hips down to his. His mouth drapes open and I draw his bottom lip between my teeth. I experimentally move forward against the hardening lump in his pants. Satisfaction spreads through me both from the friction and the sound of his deep moan. His free hand slips under the back of my night shirt and rests on the small of my back. I flex into him, pulling our lips apart. His hand still in my hair immediately pulls my mouth back to his.

A piece of wood sends a loud pop through the room as fire engulfs it. It catches my attention momentarily. Peeta had done an excellent job building it, the fire is raging. The wood pops again and I allow myself a small smile, "Just the fire" I say offhandedly. When I return to him, Peeta is staring blankly at me. He begins looking from my face to the fire and back to my face, and I instinctively know he is fighting some torture induced vision.

"Just fire…" he mutters. His pupils grow wider.

"Just the fire," I assure him, a hint of desperation in my voice. I'm hoping he'll snap out of his trance. Of course, the universe doesn't work that way for me.

"Mutt!" He spits. "Fire Mutt! Don't touch me!" I crumple to the floor as he flies to his feet. Somehow I miss the table and start fumbling away from him. He crouches in a defensive position. Without his shirt I can clearly see his tense muscles. I inch backward until I can feel the heat of the flames close to my back. My hand fumbles over the handle of the poker that was left forgotten in the fire. I wrap my hand around it just as he rushes forward. With speed I didn't think possible of Peeta, he dives, knocking it out of my hand. The end that had been left in the coals twists 180 degrees and I cry out as the hot metal brands a line across my leg.

My hand clinches the rising whelp on my thigh. Why am I always being burnt? My vision blurs with oncoming tears, but I can still make out the confusion on Peeta's face. His eyes return to normal. Crawling on his knees he grabs my wrist, flings my hand away from the inflicted injury and sturdies it. I flinch but don't' dare stop him when he grabs the bottom of my gown, pushing it above my stomach.

"Scars… Katniss…" His hand moves back down to my leg, "No…" I'm still too frightened to try to comfort him as he realizes what happened. "Go!" He jerks his hand away and hauls himself backward, "Get Out!" There is pain and remorse etched in the request. He is gripping the poker with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

I ease toward him, reaching out, "But-"

"GO!" he shouts, swinging the poker around and smashing it into the table, breaking our empty porcelain cups.

I run. I run out of the house and into the snowy night. I glance over my shoulder to make sure he isn't following me, ready to beat me to death. The snow pricks my feet like needles and the wind isn't much kinder on the bare skin of my limbs. I begin to turn toward my house just three spaces down, but I can't. I would rather face Peeta than my empty house and all it entails. But I don't really want to do that either, so I run over to Haymitch's.

I hear him grumble faintly after I bang on his door, "Goway! Noone 'ome."

I push open the front door anyway. The smell of mold and liquor and filth fills my nose. I almost hurl. Haymitch was never one to clean. I almost would rather the poker than this stench. I close the door and strategically tiptoe down the hall, careful not to draw his attention. I am not on the best of terms with him since our return, he would kick me out for sure. Or worse. But I have nowhere else to go, so I track secretively into his living room. The coals in his grate were just dying down from the fire he must have left unattended. That was fine with me. I've had enough of fire tonight.

I curl up on the couch and force my eyes closed. The brand on my leg burns, but all in all, it wasn't that bad. Not compared to the disappointment. Peeta will never touch me after this… I fail miserably at trying to keep him out of my thoughts. _Will he ever be able to care for me again? Should I have left? Will life never cut me a break?  
_Sleep held the promise of nightmares, but they would leave once I wake. Tonight, the dreams would be my escape from reality.

* * *

"I know she is here Haymitch,"

"She ain't here boy! I'd tell you if she was!"

"Her footprints lead right to your house. Look at the snow,"

I could hear Haymitch mumble something about useless geese as the two stride down the hall. I stay still, not having the energy to care how mad the drunkard got. Sleep had eluded me when I needed it most. My eyes feel like they are wired open. I heard their march halt just outside the door frame.

"Now you listen here to me, Katniss," The old man's voice was a dangerous undertone. Solely because he rarely uses my name, I muster up the oomph to lift my head to look at him. His eyes are bulging along with a vein in his neck, "I don't care if you were the Mockingjay, if you are the president, Or My Own Damn Mother, you _DO NOT_ go sneaking into people's houses in the middle of night! Especially _MY_ house! You have some nerve and it is going to be the end of you one day! I could have-"

Peeta's hand grips his shoulder, effectively cutting off the verbal lashing.

"Get her out," He spits and stomps away. Bottles rattle from the kitchen as Haymitch starts his daily routine. I roll my eyes and let my head fall back to the couch.

He ambles over where I can see him. His stance reminds me a an old dog I use to see begging for scraps in the Hob. Most people took pity on it and it barely lived on those handouts. But most people kicked at it. When this happened it would put its tail between it's legs and have such a pitiful look on its dirty face. My heart lurched. I want to be angry at him, but I am overwhelmed with the aspiration to keep him from feeling guilty. It wasn't truly his fault… well yeah it was, but he would never hurt me in his right state of mind.  
His eyes keep glancing to the place on my leg. I look momentarily for something to cover me. Finding nothing, I sit up and try to position it out of site. "I'm sorry,"

"Its nothing,"

"Yes it-"

"Peeta, let it go. Just tell me what happened last night so I can fix it," I state bluntly. I was never one for tact.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asks. I'm not sure if he is trying to avoid the question or if he just doesn't want to talk about what happened between us last night in Haymitch's hearing range.

I have a clear view of the morning's first rays of light coming through the window. For some reason, I feel the need to defend my decision to run to Haymitch's before anything else is said, "I just can't go back, Peeta. To my house, I just can't."

He nods understandably. Taking his winter coat off he wraps it around me, "Then you'll stay with me."

I scoff, "Yeah, let's see how that works out,"

He is use to my sarcasm by now, "What else can you do?"

Huffing in defeat I let him help me up from the couch. Before entering the hall he scoops me into his arms, "How did you make it through this with no shoes?" He questions seriously. I don't answer him because honestly I don't know. Carrying me back through the house, Peeta steps and crushes a variety of dissuaded trash.

I snuggle into his warm embrace as we travel back into the cold, back to his house. He deposited me gingerly in a chair at the kitchen table. "Would you like anything specific for breakfast?"

I say nothing as I stare him down. As much as I am enjoying this special guilt treatment (because usually I'm the one with the guilt), all I want is an explanation.

"Fine, Katniss." He sighs in resignation and sits in the chair across from me, "I guess… with what… with what was happening last night, my mind let it's guard down. I started registering you with the fire. _They_ used videos of you in your interview dress, your first interview dress, and made me think you were impervious to fire because they made you that way."

"You wore fire during the chariot rides,"

"Yes, but it doesn't work that way. Once I feel myself slipping, being hijacked, it is hard to remember anything but the videos they shown me and what they said. Because you got… because _I_ burnt you," I could see he was really upset at admitting this. I opened my mouth to comfort him but he barreled on, "Once I saw fire could hurt you, I started to remember what really was. But I still wasn't ok. I thought it would be safer for you to be out of the house."

"So I wasn't anything that… that happened between us that bothered you?" _Awkward_.

"Oh that bothered me! But in a good way. So please feel free to bother me again,"

I felt my cheeks flush. "How exactly am I supposed to stay in your house if I keep triggering your temperamental side?"

"I can put locks on your room door where I can't get in. I'll put locks on every door."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I didn't like the suggestion… but the alternative was to go back to my house. I picked at a piece of grain on the table.

"Pancakes." I say.

"Pancakes?"

"Yeah. For breakfast?"

His eyebrows shot up. This obviously wasn't the answer he was expecting. I cross my arms on the table and lay my head on them, watching as he starts pulling down bowls and ingredients. He treats his cooking the way he treats his paintings, he makes art. I could feel my eyelids droop, but I refused to go to sleep. Maybe staying with Peeta won't be such a bad thing. Maybe he can learn to fight the hijackings ticked off by me. Maybe I could even get him to bring my cloths over for me.

My eyes slip closed…

The next thing I know is that it is mid-day and I am tucked cozily into the guest bed again. It was some delicious smell that had woke me. Going downstairs I meet Peeta at the kitchen door.

"I was just coming to see if you were awake. Pancakes are done?"

"Wow, took you this long? Must be some pancakes!" I tease.

"Golden," He rubs the back of his neck, "You were asleep before I could even get the pan heated. So I took you to the room and waited a while before cooking,"

_"The_ room? Not _my_ room?" I point out with emphasis.

"Well, I thought you could have your pick. If you decided to stay that is,"

I caught the almost hidden eagerness in his voice. He wants me to stay and would like an answer. But still enjoying being pampered, I walk past him without acknowledging his inquiry and take a seat, "Smells great!"

He laughs and starts filling my plate. I cover them with maple syrup and dig in.


	4. Working Through It

Hope you like. More to come as Peeta and Katniss explore this new angle to their mending relationship. Please Read and Review! Thanks!

* * *

**Growing Back Together**

**Ch. 4**

**Working Through It**

* * *

I am flung back against the cornucopia. His hand is on my throat, fingernails dig into the side of my neck.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" he yells. I can see that every trace of decency has left him. I struggle to get away but the pain in my neck is too severe. I kick at his stomach but am easily avoided. I cry out in pain when he bangs my head back into the metal.

"NOT this time," Cato growls.

I feel his nails growing sharper and what must be fresh blood running down onto my shoulder. He displays his other hand before us. We watch as it changes into the gnarled twisted claw of a monster. Surprise flashes on his face before the psychotic grin takes over. I watch in horror as his face protrudes into a muzzle. Bristly hair sprouts along his body. Muscles ripple and grow larger, ripping the clothing once covering them into tatters. Cato, or what is left of him, groans in agony at times but it always converges into deep resonate laughter. He loosens his hold on my neck, but my horror keeps me frozen. When the transformation stops, he is no longer Cato. He is the Capital's mutt. A wolf on hind legs with unbelievable strength. His shoulders roll back, his head rises and a howl splits the air.  
Comprehending what is about to happen I start to struggle, my hands scraping at his arm. I feel the power radiating from him as he presses against me. Everything about him has changed. Except for his eyes… except for the madness.  
His face is so close that flicks of drool and mucus spray onto my face with every foul breath. An abnormally long tongue snakes out of his mouth, lapping up the blood spilling from my neck. A growl of satisfaction vibrates in his chest. I can't stop my whimpering or my body from shaking.

"Time for your's" he growls, dragging his hand from my neck down my chest. I brace myself for the pain but he only shreds cloth. I look down to see a silver metal-like material under my shredded shirt. I am in a full body armor suit. My eyes squeeze shut at the comprehension of what this means…  
"How long will it take _you_ to die?"

* * *

I hit the ground. My eyes snap open and see nothing but darkness. I scream. I scream and I scream. My body curls into a ball as I wait for Cato to begin his butchery.

"Katniss, Katniss." Peeta's empathetic hands turn my face around to look at him. When I resist his strong arms lifts me into his lap and cradles me. He softly shushes me as I try to swallow my shrieking. I bite my fist with the effort. Loud residual sobs force their way from my throat. He holds me steadfastly to him.  
He strokes my loose hair in silence, letting me bawl it out. After a few moments the sobs recede and I begin to feel culpable, as I always do, about waking him and not being strong enough to handle things that aren't real… well aren't real anymore… that I know of…  
"Make them stop…" I plead, burying my face in his shirt. My mind is still foggy from sleep and when his embrace slackens I have the fleeting fear that he is going to leave me alone in the dark. I reach out and grab his arm before he can let go.

"It's ok," He assures, reaching above the bed and pulling down one of the blankets, wrapping it around me. I must have thrashed in my sleep and fallen from the bed. We are in the floor and I know Peeta must be cold, but I burrow into his chest and don't suggest moving. Once again acting selfishly, afraid that he will leave me if the situation changes.

"What was it?" he whispers.

"Cato…"

"Human Cato?"

"Both. He turned in front of me. Why can't I just forget?"

It was a rhetorical question and I never expected him to answer. But he does.

"Maybe you don't need to," I look up at him, barely able to distinguish his outline in the dark, "Maybe we can work through them."

"Work through them?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice.

"What was Cato doing?"

I am intrigued, so I indulge him, "Well, when he was human Cato, he was grabbing my neck and shouting at me. Asking if I knew what I did to him,"

A few seconds pass before his hand gingerly touches my neck. Instead of grabbing it, he tenderly strokes.  
"Do you know what you do to me?" He whispers silkily down to me.

The tone of his voice makes me squirm, in a good way. I'm thankful the lights are out but I have a feeling he can feel the heat rushing to my face. This is silly, and can't possibly work. A nightmare is a nightmare. But no one else but him can sympathize, so I decide to play along, secretly hoping he will keep up the seductive voice.

He can't see the smirk on my face but it is blazing in my voice, "Next he threw me against the cornucopia."

His hand halts it's caressing to tenderly latch hold on the back of my neck, using it to guide me as we rise to our feet. I follow his lead, a little skeptical, but I am willing to do anything to keep him with me all night. He lightly presses my back against the wall. The cold air nips at my bare legs and makes my nipples harden. I can tell from Peeta's glances that he can just distinguish the latter pushing against the shirt he had let me borrow for the night.

"I tried to kick him, but he moved. Should I kick at you?" I asked flippantly.

Keeping a tranquil expression, he slips his hand under my leg and lifts it to wrap around his hip.  
My pulse quickens with the unexpectedness of all this. The feeling from the other night seeps between my legs. I try to press my hips to him, to smother the spark, but he strategically keeps a small distance between us. The sensations grow with his teasing. The corners of his lips twitch with a small smile. He is determined to play this out.

"He slammed my head back," I continue, trying to keep my voice and my hips, steady. He pulls me forward. My lips barely brush his before his challenging kiss is pressing my shoulders back against the wall. My breath quickens with the combination of his hand still on my neck, the other holding my leg around him, and his lips on mine. But I'm breathless when he pulls away.  
His chest is heaving and despite him keeping a deliberate distance between us, the effect this is having on him brushes against me. His hand squeezes my thigh, waiting for the next detail.

"Then… he changed…" I wince as the nightmare takes on a more present torture. I am fairly certain there is no way to translate that act in a romantic way. This will surely put an end to our game.

His eyes roam over my face before coming back securely to my eyes. The grip on my leg loosens and it falls from his hip. I don't make an effort to hide my disappointment. His hands slowly reach behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Just like in the dream, I freeze at this new interpretation of change. Never taking his eyes from mine he pushes down his pants and steps out of them. I fleetingly admire how well he moves despite his prosthetic leg. All that remains is his under garments.  
He returns his hand to my neck and I shiver. "Was that all?" he questions. My eyes travel down his torso to take in the rest of him. His finger under my chin brings my gaze back to his. He lifts his eyebrow, gently demanding an answer.

"He howled." I say meekly, my mind races with flashes of detail, "I tried to get away but he pinned me."  
Grinning, Peeta presses my body against the wall with his. Jarring his hips firmly against mine it was impossible to suppress my bay of pleasure.

"That'll work," he joked cockily.

I try to make my reasoning work. Every touch makes my head lighter and I can feel how hard he is, how much he wants this. I try think ahead to see where this will all lead, but I can barely comprehend the next move.  
"His nails were cutting into my neck… he-he licked-" I couldn't finish, or repress the shudder that cut through the lustful haze.

Peeta gives my neck a squeeze that is more reassuring than threatening and leans toward me. Goosebumps rise on my arms as I feel his breath against my skin. Every move he makes is measured and has such significance I am taken aback. My entire body starts to quake when the tip of his tongue languorously makes its way from my collar bone up the column of my neck.

"Then?" he rumbles. I can feel the beat of his heart speeding behind his rib cage.

"He drug his claw down my chest," I pant.

He groans as his hand rakes down from my neck, over my breast, halting at my stomach. If he had any sort of lengthy nails my shirt would be just as tattered as in my dream. My breath is short and ragged. His body is trembling as he tries to hold himself back. My body aches for him to let go.

"Then?" he growls in my ear possessively, "Tell me what then!"  
I try to force myself to remember the ending of my dream but Peeta's body begins to writhe against mine, steady at first but soon pressing me into the wall until my feet are barely touching the ground. He is losing control. His coarseness only serves to feed the flames. My fingers scrape down his arms, now knowing what all this has come to.  
"He asked how long it would take for me to die." I gasp.

Peeta fists the front of my shirt and uses it to throw me down on bed. The licentious gleam in his eyes is tantalizing. "Let's see!"  
He falls on top of me, crashing his mouth to mine. I never imagined Peeta moving against me in this untamed hostile way. I wrap my legs around his, running my hands through his blonde locks, wanting more. He pulls himself from my grasp and I have only a second to miss the feel of him before my shirt is in his hands. With a single jerk he rips it open, exposing me.  
He growls a warning when I impulsively cross my arms over my breast. I put up a mild fight as he grabs my wrists, but in seconds he is holding me captive with my arms above my head. He licks his lips while taking in the sight of me below him. Taking both my wrist in one strong hand he roughly trails his hand down my ribs, hooking a finger under my underwear.

"Do it!" I beg. I want his hands, his lips, all of him touching me. When nothing happens I notice his body is tense and he is still.  
His pupils dilate back and forth. "Peeta…?"

"I… I…" He stutters. He is losing control. Again. _Now!_  
His hold on me slackens, "I can't stop it," he whines through gritting teeth.

"I Don't Care! Don't Stop!" I shout unintentionally. His head snaps up, my confession temporarily shocking him out of his episode. The feeling inside me is so intense I stare daggers back at him, daring him to stop! I will die if he doesn't make this ache go away!  
I slam my hips up into his, grinding against his front. A long groan is drawn from him.

"Katniss, stop!"

Swiftly -and easily- I slip from his clutch. Flipping him onto his back in a single fluid motion, I bringing myself on top and straddle him. I move his hands to my hips and hold them there. He squeezes as I begin to wildly rock back and forth on top of him. His grunts of resistance and ecstasy send me spiraling higher. My breast bounce in the cool air through the rip in my shirt. Wetness seeps through my underwear. Unintelligible words and sounds fly from my lips as I grope hungrily at his chest, causing him to bare his teeth at me in an animalistic snarl. The madness in his eyes threatens to take over him.

"I need you, Peeta," I beg, "Stay with me!"

Eyes squinting shut, his head rolls back. After a few seconds he mouths the word _Always_. All the tingling is swirling to a single point inside me. I slammed that point relentlessly onto his hardness. In a mix of ire and need and surrender he calls my name. His fingers dig into my hips, forcefully holding me down as his back arches. I feel his length ripple. His eyes snap open and the brilliant blue overwhelms me. Clinching my thighs into him the room fills with my own cry of satisfaction. White lights flash behind my eyes but I can still see his gaze vividly, heightening the feelings when my muscles tense and sudden convulsions send release crashing through me. Oh, release! Sweet sweet release!

We stay this way, tense and binding, until both of us are drained. I fall limply into his waiting arms. His hands splay across my back, mine hangs loosely over his shoulders. We lay motionless, trying to find a way to catch our breath.

In the few moments before he pulls the blankets over us, I think about how this would have happened anyway despite the war. I need him. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses, only Peeta can give me that. His arms circle me once more, holding me tight as I slip contently into the most peaceful night of sleep that I can ever remember.

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Author Note: Now show me some love people. Fav. Follow. and Post a Review to keep the chapters coming!


	5. Is This What You Want

Don't own hunger games.  
Been gone for a while. Sorry. Laptop crashes. Back now. Show me some love with some Favs, Follows, and Reviews!

* * *

**Growing Back Together**  
**Chapter 5**

**Is This What You Want?**

* * *

I woke to the sound of chirping birds outside the window. Now that the mines were closed, birds began to return and nest in our town. Before the revolution, they pretty much stuck to the forest. If anyone saw them in town, they would try to catch them for dinner anyway.

I was still clinging to Peeta's chest, laying against his side with my leg over his. I looked up to get a better view of him. He was still sleeping peacefully, one arm behind his head, the other I could feel still gripping on my hip. I couldn't stop the smile spreading on my face. Last night had not been like me in the least. Peeta had moved fast, pushing the line in our relationship far from its resting place as "friends". I'm not sure where the line rests now. If I was being honest with myself, I'm not even sure if I even want there to be a line. For far too long I have held back. Losing my childhood to the repression of the capitol. Losing my family in the war. Losing my normal physical appearance to the rebel's agenda…  
I am tired of losing everything. Peeta was the only thing I was able to gain back, and there was still a part of him that was locked away from me. He had lost just as much as I had. I'm not sure he considers having me a back a valid cancellation prize. I was pretty much the cause of every pain he had to endure. Still am actually… not to mention I am far less than even half of a whole person mentally. And the scars… Peeta has yet to see most of the scars. The first night he saw my stomach when he pushed my shirt up during his hijacking… and last night was so dark, I doubt he could see them.

I start to feel self-conscious about laying bare chested against him. Moving back slowly I try to get up without waking him. I stop when his hand tightens its grip on my hip. His eyes flutter open and stare down into mine. He gave me a lopsided smile that made my heart skip a beat.

"Sleep well?" He asked smoothly.

I nodded, "You?"

"Best rest I have had in years," he admitted. His grin faded and his eyes grew sad, "Katniss… about last night,"

I sat up beside him, prepared to listen. His face turns instantly red and an small impish grin plays on his lips. He points to my chest. My bare open chest. I had forgotten about the shirt! I quickly grab the separated pieces and hold them together.  
He clears his throat and continues, "I honestly didn't intend for things to go that far. I lost control of myself… in more ways than one. I could have hurt you last night. I… I don't think we should risk it again."

I try to blink my shock away. Whatever I was expecting him to say this morning, it wasn't that. He had enjoyed himself, I'm sure. But here I was, losing him again. I couldn't go back to the existence of us barely having any contact.

"Is that really what you want?" I ask.

"Of course not! But I can't hurt you Katniss. I could never live with myself if… "

Without thinking I let go of my shirt, letting it hang open. His view lowers for only a heartbeat. With difficulty he tears his eyes away from my chest and back up to my face, there is a determination in his gaze.

"We'll work through it." I assure him in my most soothing voice, "Just like you helped me through my dream,"

I can see the conflict inside him. I need to act fast before he can pull away again. I shrug my shoulders and let the shirt fall from me. His eyes focus back on what I just revealed. I feel him tense at my side and I worry that the scars might turn him away. His hand lifts for a second, balls into a tight fist, then settles back down. The look in his eyes is heated. It is almost as if I can feel him wanting me. I know then, the only way to win him back is to get him to touch me.

"Katniss…" he pleads, but I'm determined to change his mind.

"Do you want to know about my dream from the other night? The one that you asked if you were good?" I inquire, going for the silky voice he had used last night.  
He refuses to answer and I swear I can see a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"We were in bed together actually. I heard a noise, so I sat up," I narrate the dream nonchalantly. I reenact my part, sliding my legs over the side of the bed and rest my feet on the floor. "You grabbed my arm and asked me to stay with you." I looked back at him to see if maybe he would play his part, but he remained still. I placed my hand where his should be.

"I tried to leave anyway," I got to my feet, still watching him.  
"You told me to stay with you again. Then you moved your hand… like this." I slid my hand down my arm and between my legs. Peeta gulped loudly and fisted the sheets. From his position on the bed he can see just enough of to make out my every move.  
"You pressed against my back and... and started to rub," A shiver ran through me as my hand began copying the motions of my dream. Although I would much rather it be Peeta, I wasn't disliking the feeling of touching myself in front of him.  
"You kissed me here," My other fingertips trailed down my neck, causing goosebumps. I could see the beginning perspiration on his forehead. "When I begged you to stop, you slide your fingers past my underwear…" I close my eyes and push a finger into myself. I'm wet, hot and wet. I take a deep shaky breath before continuing.  
"And you held me to you," I sway slightly, wishing I had his support. I gently move my finger around in swirling motions, "And then…"  
I gasp as I slipped another finger inside, "I need you," I whisper, realizing I am unable to finish my narration. That was all it took for Peeta. In a flurry of movement he was behind me, latching his lips to the back of my neck, sucking until I'm sure it would make a mark. He tugs my hand away and replaces it with his. I feel one beefy finger enter me.

"Oh god, Katniss, you are so tight," I could feel his labored breathing against my back. I moan as he adds another digit and moves them experimentally. It was mind blowing how fast he found a steady rhythm that had me bucking against his hand. I ran my fingers back into his hair and begged for more. I could feel his hardness press into my back, out of my reach. His other arm snaked around me and began to rub at the top of my folds while his fingers pump me mercilessly. I cry out his name, the source that was setting off every nerve in my body. My walls tighten around his fingers and I lean back into him as my orgasm shakes me. He keeps his fingers moving, and I moan with every little shock of pleasure that continues to hit me. As I come down off my high, he pulls me back onto the bed. He props himself on an elbow beside me. Taking my hand in his he raises it to his lips, kissing each knuckle tenderly.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asks cautiously.

"Yes!" I said with such conviction that it catches us both off guard. He leans down, pressing a hard kiss to my lips. I'm aware of his pulse still racing.

Pulling back he asks hastily, "Are you ready for more?"


End file.
